


How to Light a Fire

by Sigart



Series: BYM-verse [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, War, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigart/pseuds/Sigart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War is an ugly adventure. Always. Not least for those who are innocent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Light a Fire

It happened in the small hours one morning. Just before sunrise. The nights were still light, the way they were in the summer, and the attack had waned some. Everyone had thought this meant Russia had reconsidered. Well, not exactly, but everyone had _hoped_.

 But then there was that early summer morning.

 The mainland suddenly, unexpectedly, lost contact with Gotland.

 Hoping it was no more than a radio failure, everyone held their breaths while specialist forces were sent to the island to scout the situation. They returned with the news that Russian forces had overrun the soldiers stationed there early in the morning and that they now had control of the entire island. They had established a base and were patrolling the rest of the island regularly. A Russian flag was billowing over Visby.

 Sweden had, of course, not really needed the intelligence. He could feel the foreign soldiers on his soil, knew of the discontent in his people.

 It wasn't that Russia hadn't conquered other areas of Sweden. Sweden had a very long coastline and he simply did not have the power to protect it all at the same time, but Russia had only gotten a hold of some of the northern parts; thinly populated and hardly more than woods.

 “We'll get it back,” Denmark reassured. This was no time to act blindly; Russia had just acquired the most ideal position he could possibly wish for. Islands were notoriously difficult to invade; getting out of the water and onto land made you a sitting duck and there was nothing to hide an incoming plane. Without a superior number of soldiers, you had to be supremely sneaky to accomplish it.

 They began planning. They were not letting Russia keep such an advantageous position so close to such a vital part of Sweden; the capital.

 Then one morning a dinghy hit the shore near Stockholm carrying with it two small boys and a teenage girl.

 The children were clearly scared, traumatized. When they shied away from people, it was not due to shyness and when people asked them what had happened and they kept silent, it was not because they did not understand. Only the young girl seemed willing to divulge information, and she insisted on seeing someone “in charge”.

 When she finally admitted to being from Gotland, they were quickly transported to a military base outside the capital. This happened only after nearly two hours of people asking whyever she needed to see someone of rank and what had happened to them and where their parents were and wouldn't the little ones like a cup of hot chocolate, maybe a nap?

 Even after the girl had been assured that people who could make a difference would be there in a matter of minutes, she kept the two silently staring boys close and refused to let the well-meaning ladies take off with them.

 Denmark and Sweden arrived at dusk. Sweden looking positively murderous, marching to their destination with determined steps. Swedes, who were normally naturally quite comfortable around him, shied away. Denmark marched along in his wake, every now and again shooting worried glances at his companion's pallor. This could not be good.

 They arrived in front of the barracks in which the three children had been given quarters.

 “Listen, Bear-y, you don't look too good. Why don't you let me question them?”

 “They're _my_ peopl'.”

 “I know, I know!” He put a placating hand on the other's shoulder, just keeping it there lightly until Sweden stopped and turned to him. “But you look like you're preparing to win a bare-handed fight against a bear. Even your own people are nervous. They said the children were scared, right? Let me do it. My Swedish might be a little rusty, but you know how I used to be fluent and I'm good with children.” Sweden harrumphed, glaring at nothing. Denmark found himself surprised the poor building the other happened to have focused on didn't spontaneously crumble. “And not just Danish children.”

 Sweden looked away, considering. It was true that the loud-mouth was surprisingly good with youngsters, probably because he had never quite grown up himself, or maybe it was more that he was having a second childhood. “No inter'gation,” he finally conceded. “An' no axe.”

 Denmark opened his mouth for a witty retort, then closed it again. This was not the time. He looked at the weapon he had resting casually over his shoulder, then at the people around them, realizing that he was garnering quite a few stares. It was not that he even used the weapon any longer, times had changed, but they were at war and it was comfortable. He sighed and removed the axe from his shoulder, twirled it around a bit for his audience and handed it to the other country. “It better be in perfect condition when I'm done,” he warned.

 Sweden easily took the axe, not bothered by its mass though it was a long time since he had carried a sharp weapon aside from parade sables. The weight was comfortable in his hands and he whirled it a bit to test its balance.

 Well, no wonder the Dane was so attached to the thing. It was an exquisite weapon.

 As Sweden started taking out his frustration and impotent anger on an invisible enemy Denmark entered the barrack, removing his coat and loosening his tie. Like all military quarters, the bunker was neat; everything arranged with precision and habit, though it was still clearly women's quarters. It didn't smell like socks.

 The two boys were lying on one bed in the corner farthest from the door, curled up together staring wide-eyed at the intruder while the girl sat on a bed next to them. Her gaze was not obviously scared. She assessed their visitor, giving the handsome and seemingly young man a once-over, eyeing the gun he placed atop his coat on the bed nearest the entrance.

 “Who're you supposed to be?” she asked suspiciously as he slowly moved towards their corner.

 He offered her a self-deprecating smile, hoping to ease her fear, and sat down Indian style on the floor between the two beds. “I guess you could call me the general of the Danish army. At your service, miss,” Denmark said in Swedish, stumbling a bit over the words and the pronunciation. “My name is Matthias Køhler.”

 “The Danish army? Why the Danish army? What about...? Wait, you don't look old enough to be a general.”

 “I am... a bit older than I look,” Denmark admitted and let some of the years he had experienced shine through in his eyes. “And if you are wondering about my Swedish counterpart, he's just outside. But he is no good at talking and he's so angry he would scare the boys. Hell, he scares even me.” He smiled reassuringly at the two children but they didn't seem terribly impressed by his charm so he turned his attention back to the girl. She really should be categorized as a child too, he thought. She couldn't be older than fifteen, maybe sixteen, though to a regular human she would probably look older due to the experiences that were shining out of her eyes. She was barely holding herself together.

 Denmark gritted his teeth and did his best not to let the sudden, overwhelming urge to kill something show on his face. The girl's eyes widened and she recoiled slightly.

 The Dane took a few deep breaths, fighting for control.

 “I am sorry,” he said, when he thought his expression was back to normal. “It is just that I think you have some really bad news about Gotland and it makes me angry. I'm not even Swedish, so you can imagine how bad Berwald is.”

 She could. If a Dane got so angry just thinking of what she might tell him, a Dane with no real attachment to the island she hailed from, then the Swedish general was probably livid.

 “Do you mind telling me your name?”

 “Elin.”

 “That's so pretty. What about the boys'?”

 “I dunno.”

 “Okay,” Denmark agreed, curious, but reluctant to pressure her for more details than she volunteered. “So.” Her eyes focused on the small recorder he placed on the floor. “Do you mind?”

 “Why do you need to record it?”

 “We, the two of us, we're going to set a fire in the Swedish soul. Do you know what happened when your late king, Gustav the Great, died?” She shook her head. She knew he had died on the front lines, but it was several centuries ago and history had never really interested her. “A fire was lit in the Swedish army. They wanted revenge for their beloved leader and, boy, did they get it. The Swedish army was one of the most feared in that time. It won a lot of battles, even with bad odds.”

 “This will do that again?”

 “It might. I'll record this and the rest of Sweden will hear your words. I already have a good guess of what you might say, but Sweden has been living in peace for generations. They are, in some ways, quite naïve when it comes to war and what it brings. If you can tell them, if you can get them to understand, if you can light that fire I know is dwelling in their hearts, then your army will not allow defeat.” He didn't tell her that the recording would go around the world. Her words would turn everyone against Russia and it would excuse any atrocities the Swedish army would probably commit when they went berserk.

 He turned the recorder on and put it back on the floor. “Okay then. Tell me what happened in Gotland. Start from when the Russian soldiers came.”

 She started her tale. She used simple word. Sometimes, she got so angry she couldn't get words out and sometimes, she choked on tears but mostly she managed to keep her voice relatively even. The tale she told seemed all the more heartfelt because of it.

 The Russians had come early in the morning, she didn't know how they had gotten close without detection or how they had entered the base. By the time she had gotten word of it, it was just before seven in the morning and a car had driven through Visby, blaring in barely understood English that the Russians had taken control of the town and island and that the inhabitants was not allowed outside for the time being.

 It wasn't until a few days later that they learned how the soldiers were demanding grain and livestock from the farmers. And yet another few days later they learned that a farmer in the north had refused to give up his bread and butter.

 “We heard it from the Russian soldiers. They were b-bragging really loudly when they came back that they had killed him and... and... you know, his wife and daughters in law...” She trailed off, looking a little lost for a short while. Denmark shot her an encouraging smile and did his best not to pressure her into continuing. After a few seconds, though, she pressed on. “Someone threw a rock at them.” And the Russian soldier had become angry and retaliated, and upon opening fire on a Swede, his neighbours had protested. The vehicle had been overrun with angry citizens, the four soldiers dead in a few minutes and the mob had moved on to the Russian base.

 Denmark didn't need to hear the rest. It didn't take a genius to guess that the Russian soldiers had shot the mob down, then found four of their comrades dead, all but torn to pieces, and had started opening fire on the rest of Visby and then the rest of the island as well.

 “I live... lived just outside of town. By the beach. There was a boat... I... my father said I had to hide there. He.. I think he went to fight the Russians. They,” she gestured to the two boys, who had yet to make any move aside from their eyes, which kept flickering between the girl and the guy on the floor. Elin seemed to realize that her gesture could not be seen through the recording, hesitated,  swallowed, before she tried again. “The boys were already there. I think they're my neighbour's grandchildren or... or something. We kept hiding. There were a lot of shots all night. Then I saw the city started burning, and there were fires in many other places on the island. I... it wasn't so dark with the fire. There was a tarpaulin so we all hid underneath it. I loosened the rope so we started drifting. The.. I don't... do you think anyone survived?”

 Denmark sighed. “I'm sorry,” he commiserated, empathising with the complete loss of innocence. But it would be too cruel to give her hope when there was none. He himself had far too much experience with what happened when soldiers lost control, both on the winning and losing side. It was lucky for the girl that she hadn't been close enough to watch everything as it happened. “There might be other survivors like you, but there will not be very many. The best hope is that the Russians overlooked some farms or small villages.”

 “Oh.” The girl seemed at a loss at that. She had probably been expecting false platitudes but Denmark just did not believe in that stuff. The silence stretched and Denmark reached towards the recorder in order to turn it off when suddenly she addressed him once more. “I... they kept crying. The boys. At the loud noise and such. I... I had to tell them to be quiet. I kept telling them that if they couldn't be silent we would all be killed, and now they won't say anything! I.. I had to! The Russians...”

 Denmark didn't allow her to speak another word. Forsaking the recorder and quickly getting onto the bed with her he pulled her into his arms, shushing her and stroking her hair reassuringly while  she cried into his chest. “It's okay, baby, it's fine. You saved their lives! It's just that sometimes, you have to be a little cruel to help people, right? And they're still alive, that's good, right? As long as they're alive we can...” He stopped suddenly at the feeling of someone tugging on his shirt. A glance revealed that the boys, while still clinging to each other, had finally moved. They had left the bed and was now standing there, looking beseechingly at the Dane. He shifted, keeping an arm around Elin's shoulders and reached the other out towards the boys, who quickly crept into his lap.

 It was a bit of a stretch, Denmark thought, peripherally amused. He wasn't really big enough to embrace three healthy children at the same time, but then again, he supposed that wasn't the point.

 “Berwald,” he called, unfortunately loud enough to startle the children. He quickly shushed them again and held them tighter, giving up on the reassurances and just going for calming nonsense words.

 Sweden appeared in the doorway, as tall and imposing as ever. If any surprise was perceivable on his face at seeing his much hated neighbour engulfing and being engulfed by the children, he was too far away for Denmark to see it.

 Bugger.

 “Hey, could you go get some of the Red Cross workers? We need some food, clean clothes and stuff.”

 The imposing figure didn't answer, simply turned around and left for a few minutes before returning with two middle-aged women, carrying blankets, clothes, food and thermos. It had probably been all prepared beforehand, ready for when the children finally became willing to accept help.

 “Hey, Elin, guys, I'm going to have to go now.” He knew it was cruel of him to leave them right this second, when they had only just opened up to him, before they had even cried out, but he really could not stay. Additionally, allowing them to get even slightly attached to him would be far worse. It would be better for them to get attached to people they were actually likely to see more than this once.

 “B-but.. already?”

 “I'm gonna go set that fire, right? We gotta be quick,” he told them, already expertly extricating himself from their grip. “I want you to tell these women here what you told me, okay? They will understand and they're much softer to hug, besides.” Denmark winked, a roguish smile playing around his mouth. Elin found to her surprise that he was already halfway through the room.

 “Berwald,” Denmark growled as soon as he closed the door behind him. “I hope you're prepared for some good, old-fashioned power up.”

 Sweden simply handed the giant axe back to the Dane, as he fell in beside him, offering the smaller nation an inquiring glance. The rogue grin had transformed and now it was positively feral. Denmark's stance, even his way of walking had changed; he was now walking with his knees bent, always in perfect balance,  his centre of gravity a bit closer to the ground.

 Denmark was walking to war.

 Uncharacteristically silent, the older nation handed the recorder to his taller companion, who turned it on with no further comment. Elin's voice filtered through the night as they walked, prompting not a single visible reaction from her fatherland until the recording ended. Sweden turned it off and put it in his pocket.

 Then, and first then, did his eyes narrow dangerously. “Russia's go'ng t' burn.”


End file.
